Echoes in the Basement
by SexinSatin
Summary: "In times of grief and sorrow I will hold you and rock you and take your grief and make it my own. When you cry I cry and when you hurt I hurt. And together we will try to hold back the floods to tears and despair and make it through the potholed street of life" ― Nicholas Sparks, The Notebook
1. Echoes in the Basement

Ziva stepped into Gibbs' house cautiously, the door as always was unlocked that didn't surprise her. Even the dark of the living room didn't concern her, it was often dark upstairs when she stopped by for a cup of coffee and conversation. She stopped by about once a week or at least that was the pattern that had become habit lately. What concerned her were the sounds coming from his basement as she opened the door and looked down. As she descended the stairs she found the room was dimly lit when normally it shined with light. She normally found him bent over some project, sanding or honing the wood into whatever his mind wanted it to become. She had spent countless hours over the past few years watching him turn a simple block of wood into something beautiful or whimsical. It never failed to amaze her, the talent his hands held. Whether wielding a gun or a sanding block he finessed out something amazing.

Tonight the basement was lit only by a single bulb above the workbench holding his tools. On any given night the sounds of sandpaper mingled with the smell of sawdust and coffee. Tonight the smell of bourbon and the sound of laughter mixed in the air. Laughter was supposed to delight, to create joy and share happiness. The laughter that sounded throughout the basement made her still, just as she would have reached out to touch him. It was the laughter of a child, a ghost child, one that existed now only in pictures, memories and on the ribbons of tapes fast wearing out. The laughter echoed throughout the basement and settled on his shoulders a heavy weight of grief she could almost see. Her heart clenched as the ghost child spoke to him. The giggled "daddy", caused him to shake as he sat in front of her unaware of her presence behind him. That alone should of worried her but it was of little consequence when she watched him lift the bottle to his lips. The amber liquid slid from the neck of the bottle to his lips. The bottle was nearly clean of its contents, a bottle that only the day before had been nearly full. Another wave of laughter washed over concrete, wood and over them. His pain hit her as surely as any man's fist had in the past. Even as it passed through her she knew that his had to be far worse far more agonizing. It was this truth that finally allowed her to move closer to him.

The normally vibrant mischief filled eyes found her but barely acknowledged her. Instead they skirted away dulled with pain, and lethargy that was nothing like the man she knew. The faint silver trails down his cheeks weren't him either. That badge of mourning he had never shared, not at Jenny's funeral not even at Mike's. Tonight he made no move to wipe them away or even hide them. From his loose hold on the bottle it seemed perhaps too much of an effort.

Another voice joined in with the childish giggle. Laughter laced this one as well. It promised a happy homecoming and spoke of the distance between them. The irony of those words struck her even as his hand clenched the bottle tighter and his eyes welled with fresh tears. Spiky lashes closed over cold blue eyes, forcing her out and locking the past in. Her own eyes smarted with tears and the breath she drew in was far from steady. His grief so open and on display forced her to touch him. Her hand found his the most hesitant innocent touch. She expected his refusal, to be pushed away so it hurt even more when he clenched her hands so tightly it was almost painful. It hurt because it spoke of a pain so deep it pushed past his strength to fight. She had nothing to offer him nothing that could take away this moment in time or the one that had brought him here. All she could do was offer her strength for him to share. With her free hand she took the bottle; for a moment there was the tug of resistance and then it came free into her grasp. Without letting go of him she turned and set it on the work bench. He was leaning against his newly finished boat listening to his memories propped up against the upright hull. As she sat next to him feeling the weight of his head on her shoulder she remembered the only other time she'd seen his pain this close to the surface. A darkened moment in the hospital, when again his pain had brought forth her own, a moment she had never had the ability to forget. A giggle flowed through the room again followed by an achingly sweet "I love you," two voices in imperfect harmony. His hand clenched hers even harder but the pain she felt was all in her heart, all for him for all he'd lost. With the bittersweet whir and click of technology the tape ended. The silence was a deafening cascade of sound leaving the rude drip of water in the sink and the harsh anguish filled breathing released from his chest.

He moved to stand but only managed to rise against the side of the boat. His fist met the wood, an angry protest against his weakness. The strength of body was there the alcohol not enough to dull either his body or his loss. Years in the past and that loss left him clinging to wood bearing his child's name in a wash of color. She rose, finding his eyes again knowing they didn't see her only a memory. She stepped away as he watched her with the faintest hint of alarm. She reached into a cabinet and withdrew a blanket. It was old, well-loved and soft. From the cupboard followed a pillow that while clean had seen better days. The dancing ponies on the pillowcase made him flinch and swear. She laid them both in the cradle of the boat. Offering her hand again she led him into the cocoon like embrace of the wood. For a moment he looked as though he might fight her, seemed to want to fight his way out of the mire of torment. But just as quickly the battle was lost and he let her guide him to lie beside her.

The drip of water, the sounds of grief shouldn't have been a lullaby but that night they were.


	2. Echoes in my Mind

It started the same every time. The grief would sneak up on him slowly surround him like fog on an icy night. At first he could fight the memories, fight the soul-shattering images that played like a slideshow in his mind. Often he would succeed and remember only the good. Nights like tonight he went down like a boxer with a glass jaw. He'd finished painting her name on the boat. Five letters painted the same shade as her eyes, five letters that had the power to force him to his knees. The final stroke of the brush and he'd known that he wouldn't be leaving his basement tonight. He stared at the bottle in his hand not remembering when he'd decided to hide in it. But then he couldn't remember turning on the tape that had that sweet voice dancing on teak and cement.

His hand pressed to his chest, wondering how it was possible not to die of a broken heart. How was it possible to exist without a part of you more important than any limb? He was leaden on the cold ground unable to stop the wash of bourbon down his throat wishing it would numb even as it burned. Footfalls on his stairs couldn't make him move, his body was only in the room physically. His mind was in another time, another place. The tent in the desert where he'd first heard the moments captured on the tape were in hot contrast to the coolness of his basement. The boat behind him had been replaced by a heavy pack and a gun at his side. The respite of familiar voices and a gentle nursery rhyme had broken through the violence of that time. He'd bragged about her talent, the gift she was to him, never knowing it would be the last moment they shared. Daddy had once been a name that made laughter his friend. Tonight that word forced the breath from him even as reality forced its way in pushing at him in the form of dark hair and eyes. He wanted to snap free of the enthrallment grief had over him instead he could only grasp her hand. Like a drowning man he held on too tightly yet he couldn't release the softness that had found its way into his world of rough edges and sharp pain.

Even as she settled in next to him he heard another woman's voice. Angel's voices raining down on him like lashing ice, soothing and agonizing all at the same time. He closed his eyes trying to force out the darkened basement and bring back the light of picnic's in the park. Moisture splashed on his cheeks, a stronger man would have brushed them away but, even when the real woman next to him shared his grief he couldn't move. He felt the bottle tugged from his hand almost fought against the theft but he remained still. He was frozen, locked in the sounds of piano keys and girlish giggles. He'd been shot, stabbed, tortured and yet none of that had broken him. The dual voices succeeded. Three simple words were breaking him. The harsh snap of the machine turning off told him the tape had reached its end. The blast of silence brought him back into reality with a rush of short breaths. The cold beneath him, the wood behind him the woman beside him all crashing down on him.

The memory smelled of chocolate and cinnamon, summer breeze and desert sand. Reality was bourbon, lavender and sawdust. Any other time he might have found the joy in the scents of reality, there was mystery and gifts in them. But, as he drew in deep lungful's of air it was the scents of the past he searched for. It was lost, gone as long as they had been with the simple ending of a plastic ribbon. His head thumped against the boat as he accepted the reality he wasn't ready to face. It was only the hand still holding his that gave him the will to try to stand.

Even as he stumbled, the weight of his anguish a heavy cloak still surrounding him, she was there dark eyes holding him steady. He wanted to blame the alcohol for the weakness but her eyes told him she knew the truth. It saved him from having to speak the lie aloud. Ghosts were the most intoxicating spirits of them all. For a moment he watched her seeing that the sadness had claimed her too, it settled like a cloud around her. He wanted to wash it from her, bring down the rain and wash her clean of his pain. But all he could do was slam his fist into the wood in frustration at his own impotence to help either of them.

She stood graceful in a strength he envied as he clung to the edge of the boat. When she stepped away he almost found his voice to call her back. The will was lost to him again when she moved only far enough to grab a blanket and pillow that brought a fresh wave of grief to lodge in his throat. Tonight he had no will to speak. Apparently she didn't need the words. She laid a blanket and pillow in the boat; for a long moment he just stared at those simple pieces of cloth.

Long ago they had held the vanilla sweet scent of his daughter. The fragrance had long since faded but he still laid his head on the prancing ponies to see if just for a moment he could catch a faint whiff of her. Stepping into the boat he felt the gentle way it rocked on its rounded hull. A gentle swaying like a baby cradle, rocking him as he lay next to the woman that was a reality laced in Lavender. The innocent circle of his arms finally brought his breathing to a slow even pace. The gentle drip of water in the background gave him focus, pushed away the last vestiges of a memory that was both joy and nightmare. Tucking his head into her shoulder he let the boat and the sounds of her breathing rock him to sleep.


End file.
